pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ He snorts, a bitter taste in his mouth. He should feel vindicated, he thinks. He should feel glad that he wasn't the only one who had to suffer through this shit.

Instead, he only feels pissed.

Because if Alec felt it too, that emptiness, that sickness, then apparently he felt it was worth experiencing that than dealing with Peter. Which was a completely new fucking level of insulting.

Or else he didn't feel it nearly as bad as he's letting on. Didn't feel it nearly as keenly as Peter, who felt like he would shake apart at the seams on the worst days. Like that hollowness would consume him entirely and crack him open. He might have decided it was just bearable enough to keep shutting Peter out. Which is somehow even worse. A sort of unfair that just cements everything Peter knows about the universe. ]

God, you're an asshole.

[ He spits it out, still avoiding his gaze. ]

Yeah, I know. We covered that.

[ It comes out sharp and bitter. Peter can really stop hammering in just how much he fucked this up any time now. (He supposes he has it coming. Doesn't make it any easier to sit through, though.)

His next question comes out tentatively, because he's not sure he wants to know the answer. ] So, now what?

Oh, you're askin' me now?

[ He barks that out, too, and this time his gaze snaps to him, all fire and ice and unbridled fury. ]

Figured you'd just blow me off again once you could walk without busting your stitches. Seems to be the running theme.

[ Yeah, alright. He had that coming too. ]

Fuck, Peter. I can't live like that again. I just can't, so what do you want me to say here? Obviously "sorry" doesn't cut it.

I don't give a shit what you say, Brennan.

[ Because Peter doesn't give a shit about words, for all his talk of making verbal deals and keeping his promises. Words are pliable, easily manipulated. He does it all the fucking time, twists and molds them and lets them spill from his lips with ease. ]

You're only apologizing 'cause this thing made you feel like shit.

What if it had just been me, huh? What if I was the only one who felt a damn thing while you were gone? You would've fucking stayed gone, right? You wouldn't have given a fuck, so long as you got out scot-free.

[ once again Peter's words strike him like a physical blow, stinging like a slap to the face. And it hurts all the more because it's true. He would have stayed gone, out of ignorance, perhaps, but is that really any excuse? Peter would have been the furthest thing from his mind, and if he had somehow found out just how he was suffering? He doesn't know that he's a good enough person to come back just to ease Peter's pain.

He wishes he were still unconscious, just so he wouldn't have to face this. He's spent a long time burying the ugly, selfish side of himself, and now here it is, bare and raw and staring him in the face. ]

... You're right. [ quiet at first, because this is the smallest he's ever felt. The universe dealt them a shit hand, but it's clear now that Peter got the worst of it, to be stuck with someone like him. ] You're right.

So go ahead and keep yelling. You're justified, and I don't know what to do.

[ He feels a faint flicker of regret and shame at the back of his head. He knows it’s not from himself, because he’s busy boiling over with anger – but it’s enough to douse the flames a little.

When Alec concedes, it doesn’t feel like a victory. It should, Peter thinks. He should feel like he’s won a long, bloody battle after he’s geared himself up for it all this time, but it doesn’t. It only makes the emptiness in him yawn just that much wider.

He sinks back in his seat, scrubbing his face with his hands. ]

It’s not satisfying if you let me do it.

[ He grumbles it before letting out an explosive sigh, tipping his head back against the chair’s backrest to stare at the ceiling. His hand presses small circles against his temple to stave off a growing headache. ]

I don’t have a handle on this any better than you do, Brennan.

[ Alec doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at his lap, lost in the strange turmoil of anger that’s not his own, and regret that very much is. ]

You’ve got a team, at least. That’s a step up on me.

[ He snorts derisively, casting Alec an unimpressed look. ]

You had one, too. And then you left.

[ His gaze flicks over to Peter, and there’s a flash of annoyance there, but it gets dragged under the regret still threatening to spill over. He leans back in the bed, letting his eyes slip shut. ]

We were never a team. They were a means to an end, just like everyone else in my life.

Well, that’s your problem, isn’t it?

[ His own flare of annoyance shoots up easily, rises in him and bursts through the storm. ]

You had a team. You left them, for whatever reason. You had a team again. We let you on the ship. We let you in on our planning. We took you on, and you fucked us over.

So am I supposed to feel bad for you? “Poor Brennan, so sad and so lonely.”

[ He jabs a finger at him again. ]

You did this to yourself.

[ Alec’s annoyance finds a spark in Peter’s, and flares right alongside it. ]

I’m not looking for pity, Quill, so don’t fucking strain anything.

I know, okay? I’ve been around a lot longer than you, and I’m intimately aware of just what a shitty person I am.

Then do something about it, you asshole.

[ As if that’s the easiest thing in the world. ]

You’ve got problems with trust. You’re used to working alone. The idea of commitment and attachment makes you break out in a cold sweat. That’s goddamn adorable, cupcake.

[ Peter sweeps out a hand, gesturing out to the hall. The fire in his gut makes the movement wild. ]

Have you even met us?

[ He pauses, takes a deep breath. Then another. Then another, before he shoves the chair away, getting to his feet to pace. ]

You’re not a special snowflake, Brennan. [ This, at least, is a little more sedate, though there’s still a sharpness to his words. ] We’re all shitty people. We’ve all done shitty things. We’ve all got issues, but we suck it up ‘cause we’ve got work to do.

[ There’s a few moments where Alec doesn’t trust himself to say anything. He lets Peter pace as he tries to sort out just who’s feeling what in his head. Peter is livid, that much is obvious, and he has every right to be. There wasn’t much trust between them to begin with, and Alec pretty much blew it all to smithereens in one fell swoop.

Alec is… he’s tired. He’s upset and angry, mostly at himself. Peter’s got the truth of it- the Guardians are far from saints, far from team players or well-adjusted people, but they pull it together just fine. Alec’s never had that, never stuck around long enough to get it, and weirdly that makes a little pang of loss ring in him. He only ever took family for granted, until it was gone. And then he spent the rest of his life avoiding getting close to anyone.

He tries to force himself to calm, he takes a deep breath, then another, until the storm inside him evens out. ]

You said you don’t care what I say. So what can I do?

[ He’s out of his depth, and he’s drowning, but he knows that he needs to fix this. For both of their sakes. ]

You can be less of a total dick, for starters.

[ He crosses his arms, shifting his weight to one leg as he stares at the floor. ]

Beyond that? I dunno. Maybe leave a note next time you decide to flake on us.

Or... I could try not to do that. The flaking part.

[ What a novel concept. ]

Yeah. Sure. That.

[ He’s super convinced that’s an option, evidenced by the flat way he says it.

Another deep breath, forcing some of that anger to fade. He’s been on a short fuse ever since Alec left, made even shorter when their connection started setting off screeching alarms to tell him Alec had been hurt. And now, with the man in question in front of him, his temper is evidently on a hairpin trigger.

He may be relatively calm for now, but that’s likely to change at the drop of a hat. ]

This thing that we have. It’s only gonna get worse from here, and there’s no changin’ it. [ And there it is, the bitter reality. Peter’s lip curls away from his teeth for a second before he shakes himself. ]

Neither of us wants this, but we’re stuck together. You got me. [ He drags his gaze up to look at Alec, resentment in his eyes. ] And I got you.

[ An out and out bastard who’d willingly desert his match, who would’ve left Peter to suffer it alone if only he had the option. Apparently there was just something in the Quill line that attracted complete fucking dicks, that shouted to the universe, Oh, that’s fine. We didn’t want to be happy, anyway.

Peter snorts out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning away. ]

So we figure out how to make this work. Some kinda way that doesn’t leave me puking into a bucket.

[ Alec isn't exactly convinced himself, but he's trying. He has no choice. He can't live life as half a person, and neither can Peter. (He's still trying to figure out if he genuinely cares about Peter, or if he only cares because Peter's here, angrily shouting in his face. Hard to tell, at the moment.)

(Something about the way Peter looks him, the resentment in his gaze, hurts all the same.)

He licks his lips. God, he's so tired. ]

I'm open to suggestions.

[ Fatigue douses a little more of his anger, inexplicable and out of nowhere – at least until he glances over at Brennan, remembers that the guy had been beaten within an inch of his life before they managed to find him. A pang of guilt rings through him, but he strangles it soon enough. ]

We’ll talk about it when you’re not drugged to the gills.

[ Truthfully, it’s not a conversation Peter wants to have, either, and he’s glad for the opportunity to delay it.

Alec isn’t in the right mindset for this, anyway. Peter doubts he ever will be, but now, high on meds and coasting on the waves of pain and exhaustion, is hardly the time.

He trudges back over to the chair, steps heavy and dragging. Peter doesn’t want to be here anymore than Alec wants him here, he figures, but some part of him refuses to let him leave. Not after they’ve been so far apart for however long it’s been. He collapses into the seat, kicking up a foot onto the metal frame of Alec’s cot, staring down and away to avoid looking at him. With a quick push, he balances the chair on its back two legs, arms crossed over his chest.

Settled in, then. For whatever that’s worth. ]

Just. Shut up and sleep.

[ He doesn't even have it in him to tell Peter to fuck off, though he sort of vaguely thinks it. It's probably a good thing, the exhaustion, the medication dragging him under, because otherwise his mind would be reeling. Even as sleep claims him, all he can think is, how do I get out of this?

That's always been what he's good at. Shifting the blame, slipping away without a trace. But that's not an option now. The universe removed it when it decided to make staying apart painful for them both, and now here Peter is calling him on his shit.

Then do something about it, you asshole.

Much easier said than done. The whole prospect still terrifies him. Every tug of the invisible thread between them feels like a noose. They didn't ask for this, and Peter-? Peter deserves so much better than Alec Brennan and all of his issues.

They don't talk about it- them- the next day. Or the next, or even the one after that. Alec stays happily medicated and sleeping for most of the time, while his body tries to overcome the beating it took. (His condition is perhaps made worse by relying on his Enhancements for as long as he had, and not just the aftermath when they finally gave out. One more for the "extremely stupid shit he's done" list.)

Peter's always there, a quiet and angry presence, but he's there. Alec's sure he's sticking around more for his own comfort than any real concern, but Alec's still struck by the thought that he really doesn't deserve someone who would hang around for any reason.

And even days after that, they still haven't talked about it. Neither of them are talkers, apparently, but Alec's feeling more like himself. His injuries have mostly mended (thank god for space medicine), and he can get by with mild painkillers most of the time. With his head a little more clear, the desire to run is still there, itching at the back of his mind, though he carefully shuts his doors to keep it from Peter, and maybe himself. The fact of the matter is that there is no running from this, because the only thing scarier than being forced together is that gnawing emptiness when they're apart.

They haven't really said much to each other over the course of Alec's recovery. Sometimes he finds his gaze drifting to Peter's throat, to the mark that's hidden by his magic, and sometimes he similarly catches Peter's gaze on his arm, where the red band lay camouflaged. It always feels like those moments are going to lead to conversation, but they never do.

Until one such instance where he catches Peter's eyes lingering on his arm, and he decides that if they're not going to address the elephant in the room, they may as well at least talk about something. He needs to learn to give some ground. ]

They're spells. The tattoos, I mean. It's how I can do magic without having to cast first.

[ Peter sticks around. He hovers. He stays, because what the fuck else can he do?

He knows, logically, that he could probably head back to the ship or wander around the station while Alec recovers. Distance would probably only be a problem when they were planets apart, but there's a visceral need in him to have eyes on Brennan while he's recovering. The guy's still hurt, and Peter can feel it. Not directly, beyond a soreness across his shoulders, a headache behind his eyes, a quick twinge here and there, but enough that some base instinct is telling him to protect this fucking asshole. Keep him in his sights.

And Peter hates it. He hates every fucking second of it. But what does it say about him that he gives in to it, all the same?

(That he's weak, probably. That the band around his throat is as good as a collar and a lead tied directly to Brennan, who couldn't give any less of a shit about it.

Awesome.)

The hospital staff have stopped trying to shoo him away after that first night, though. Apparently Gamora and Drax smoothed things over by being their usual terrifying selves. Rocket had acted as moral support, though he didn't have the first clue why any of them were kicking up such a fucking fuss. Peter sleeps back on the ship most of the time, but that's only when he manages to make it back. Otherwise, there's an uncomfortable couch and extra blankets and pillows with his name on it, that shamefully, he uses at least half of the nights.

It reminds him so much of Earth. Sitting and waiting with Mom as she struggled for breath, struggled to speak. Her thin fingers ghosting across the band on her wrist with a fond smile in spite of everything. It must have faded into scar tissue when she passed, but Peter doesn't remember. Just remembers kicking and screaming and begging, not her. not now. please, please, please.

He's sitting sideways on the couch now as he thinks on it all. On Mom, on Brennan, on the invisible rope between them. His feet are kicked up on the visitor chair (the couch isn't large enough to sprawl out on, which means if he spends the night, he has to curl up on it). He doesn't realize he's staring until Alec speaks, deep in thought as he is. When Alec rouses him, his entire body tenses, like an animal caught in a clearing. He says nothing for a second or two, almost like he intends to ignore the foray into conversation, but the tense silence that so often falls between them wears on his nerves. Makes him jumpy and waspish. And he hates that as much as anything.

At last, he lets out a slow breath as he drags his gaze up to meet Alec's. ]

You mean the wavy thing? [ A little gruffly, like he's still not sure if talking is a good idea. A gesture to mimic drawing in the air. ] That's casting?

[ At first he thinks Peter is going to ignore him, that he's going to let the silence stretch on, angry and oppressive. Alec isn't sure whether the fact that he doesn't is a good thing or a bad thing, but they can't avoid one another forever. ]

Yeah. The tattoos cut the writing out of the equation, so I just have to activate them mentally. Good for "oh shit" situations.

[ His gaze flicks down to the black bands wrapping Alec's forearm, though there's awareness in his eyes, now, rather than the blank stare just seconds ago. ]

You didn't draw anything for the fireball. [ He says it slowly, thoughtfully. The day everything went to shit, when they stood with Kove in the alley. Just a snap of his fingers to summon flame. ]

That's one of 'em?

[ He's quiet for a second at the reminder of that day, when everything got turned upside-down. He decides not to dwell on it. ]

Got one for each element. [ He flexes his fingers, and fire blooms in his palm again, though he's quick to douse the flame. The last thing they need is to set off any alarms in this place. ] My taser- the lightning spell- that's another. The ice one I mostly use to regulate the temperature around me to keep me from showing up in thermal vision. Air's good for winding people.

The water one is basically useless, but I'm a completionist.

[ That's... kind of awesome, Peter decides, and it shows on his face for less than a second. He frowns, though, arching an eyebrow. ]

What do you mean, winding people? Like, what, you suffocate 'em?

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